


Together

by LMT



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Aziraphale is getting better at this, I mean I think so, Light D/s, Light Spanking, Light breathplay, Not so light spanking, Tricky to bottom when you’re nursing emotional booboos, sex-positive though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: “I’ve had it.  Didn’t love it.  It’s fine.  Or not fine, depending on who you’re doing it with.”Takes place some time after Armageddidn’t.  Now that they’re *together* – a term agreed upon after much negotiation – there are certain issues to be worked out.They’ve talked about sex.  They might have it, someday.  And in the meantime they’ve found some other, arguably related, things to do.





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first Good Omens ficlet. Still getting a feel for these guys. This takes place after Armageddidn’t – I was thinking about what things would change for them if they decided to try being a couple. And while I do _not _think their relationship requires sex to be fully developed, I do think they’d discuss the topic. Cue hapless Aziraphale, and Crowley with more of a clue but less of an interest.**

* * *

They were sitting side by side in a restaurant, drinking and watching the humans go about business blissfully unaware of what had almost happened to them four weeks prior. Apropos of nothing, Crowley said – too loudly, actually – “D’you like sex?” 

Aziraphale looked at him, but he was staring off into the distance. Tried to follow his gaze, to see if there was _sex _happening somewhere in the restaurant that might have brought the subject to mind, but it was too difficult to tell through the glasses what Crowley was looking at. He finally settled on: “Pardon?” 

Crowley looked at him in surprise – as if _he _were the one who had broken a companionable silence by saying something strange. “What _pardon_?”

Aziraphale knew him too well to believe that his question was idle curiosity as the tone suggested, so he answered it. “I don’t know,” he said primly.

“You don’t know if you like it?”

“Because I haven’t had any. Obviously.”

Crowley laughed at him. “Obviously.”

He gave a disapproving scowl and turned back to his drink. He tried hard not to ask...

...but Crowley answered anyway. “I’ve had it. Didn’t love it. It was fine. I mean, I didn’t _mind_ it.”

There was absolutely no redeeming value to prurient curiosity, but, he couldn’t help himself. “With who?” he said. “Other demons?” That might explain the lack of enthusiasm.

Crowley gave him a look of horrified disbelief over the glasses. “Demons? Have you _seen_ demons? Other than me, I mean.”

They’d never talked about that – about what it might mean that Crowley’s looks had never soured, that he wasn’t rotting away like all the other suppurating creatures of the pit. He’d never asked whether he might have received some kind of subtle little blessing that was taking care of it, sparing him the indignity of walking around looking... like what he was. Foul. Aziraphale refused to think about it.

“No, you’re right, forgive me, of course you have better taste than that,” he soothed. “Who, then? Humans?”

“Mm. And a few of _your _kind.”

“A few-! No.”

“Oh, yes.” Smug and smiling. “My job is to tempt people, angel – and I’m good at what I do.”

“You’re- that’s-...” He was huffing uselessly, stammering without words. Finally he managed: “Well, _really, _Crowley.”

Something in his tone brought the demon up short. “What?”

He shook his head. Tried to change the subject. But he couldn’t, and not ten seconds later he found himself explaining, as gently as he could: “I thought I was _special_ to you.”

Crowley’s hand shot up and ripped the glasses away. "You know _damn well_-," he snarled. Then stopped abruptly and took a deep breath, and by the time he turned the anger in his voice was under control. “...Where we stand," he finished. "You made me say things that no self-respecting demon would be caught dead _thinking_ – let alone admitting to a blasted _angel_ over champagne. Now don’t pretend you didn’t hear me this time.” _Made_ him? The injustice of that took his breath away, but before he could formulate a response Crowley had returned to watching the humans, arms crossed. “And who cares if I fucked a couple of angels, anyway.”

His mouth was dry suddenly. _Fucked a couple of angels._ He wanted him to say it again. No, he didn’t, he didn’t ever want to think about that, not ever. But. _Fucked a couple of angels._ He couldn’t stop hearing it.

When he didn’t come up with any response, Crowley eventually looked back over at him – glasses in place, anger gone. “Jealous?” he said knowingly, mouth twisting. It was sort of a smile.

Aziraphale wasn’t a liar. “Yes.”

He leaned back in his seat, sprawling out. “Well, don’t be. Like I said, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. For us, anyway.” Then he looked over again, looked long and hard. “So you _are _interested.” He seemed amused. “I’ve never been sure.”

Aziraphale shook his head, feeling strangely terrified. “I’m-.” _I’m not interested,_ he wanted to say, except he wasn’t a liar.

“Shut up,” Crowley said, affectionate. "Yes you are." Then he shrugged. "That’s why I asked." He was smiling. "Just wanted to know if I’ll be expected to _put out,_ now that we’re, you know. _Together_.” He drawled the word out with a gigantic and comical look of dread. It was a word they’d settled on after much negotiation; Crowley had demanded a label, but steadfastly refused one less nebulous.

He was making faces about being _together, _but he’d said it. Aziraphale allowed himself a soft delighted laugh.

“I’d put out for you,” Crowley decided. “If you asked me to.”

It sounded as if he were conferring a favor. Aziraphale didn’t understand. “But you don’t... like it?” People talked about it like it was Heaven on earth. _Better _than Heaven, actually. They talked about it as if it were Love incarnate.

A shrug. “It’s fine. Or not fine, depending on who you’re doing it with.”

Crowley was a demon. A terrible, cruel, _nasty _demon, who delighted in raining on parades of daydreams wherever he could find them. 

Aziraphale put his nose in the air. “Well, I’ve heard it’s _nice,_” he said stubbornly. “Depending on who you’re doing it with. Which obviously doesn’t include _you_, if that’s how you’re going to be.”

Somehow the intensity of his disappointment must have got through; Crowley responded by chiding with unusual kindness: “Hey – come on, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t be silly.” He reached out and – even more unusual than his gentle tone – linked their hands.

It was very nice, but still, Aziraphale wasn’t entirely ready to stop sulking. “I’m not being _silly,_” he muttered. “Just jealous.”

Crowley squeezed his hand and shook it lazily before letting go. “You’ve got nothing and no one to be jealous of. I promise.”

He felt better – except not _really, _because he still didn’t really know. “At least tell me who,” he begged. “It wasn’t... Gabriel?”

“Not Gabriel.” He shifted in his seat, moving away.

“Then _who?_”

Crowley sighed. “At the risk of sounding like _Her,_ which I would never want to do: Some questions shouldn’t be asked.”

“But I want to _know..._”

“No you don't. Trust me. I understand jealousy,” Crowley insisted, “I’ve been manipulating people with it for thousands of years. Believe me when I say you don’t want to know. It won’t make things any better.”

_Trust me. Believe me._ He wasn’t an idiot, he knew he couldn’t refuse that, not if he wanted things with his new boyfriend (the word _he _had lobbied for. It was what people said now!) to work out. He forced himself, with every scrap of willpower he possessed, to stop asking. “Fine,” he said, but even _he_ could hear how offended and sullen he sounded. And he couldn’t really let the matter drop. “But why would you even _do _it, if you don’t like it?”

It was a moment before Crowley answered. “Lots of reasons,” he said at last. “Temptations, favors, debts. Boredom. You know.”

“Which am I?”

He snorted. “Well obviously the temptation part’s already taken care of, so...”

“_Crowley._” He waited.

Crowley made a _horrible_ face, but finally answered. “Everything you made me say to you,” he said, with a lot of faces, after a lot of silence. “All right? I’d do it because of all that. If you wanted to.”

It was indecent to sit here in public feeling so loved and loving. He tried not to _look _it; the demon would rake him over the coals.

He did the best he could, but the demon heaved a sigh. “Oh, for-...”

“I’m _sorry_! It’s just that… that’s sweet.” Understatement of the century. Perhaps longer.

“Stop.” Crowley finished his drink. Poured himself more and said – almost under his breath, and without taking his eyes from the bottle: “It wouldn’t be sweet. I’d make you talk dirty to me. What?” he said innocently, when Aziraphale let out a shocked _noise._ “I would. I’m just warning you, that’s all. Friendly warning what to expect.”

He swallowed. His face felt hot and he couldn’t breathe. But he couldn’t let Crowley stun him that easily – he had to get some of his own back. “_Boyfriendly _warning,” he corrected.

Crowley pursed his lips but repeated it for him. “Boyfriendly.”

* * *

**The End.**

**Let me know what you thought! I’m not planning to continue this, but... famous last words.**

Also: I’ve only just dipped my toes into this fandom, but I already know people have widely differing views on A&C’s respective sexualities. Like I said, my take is that their relationship absolutely does _not _require sex to be fully developed. Since we haven’t seen any suggestion that Crowley is into sex I assume he’s not, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they never end up having any. However, I think it’s equally possible that Aziraphale might be interested in trying it out now that he has a partner and has grown more comfortable ignoring heavenly codes of conduct. And I think that if that turned out to be the case, Crowley would be game for his sake. It wouldn’t be as bad as entering a church or attending a magic show! 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is not going to transform into an epic fic. It’s this scene and one more after it. That’s it! Promise.**

* * *

Aziraphale didn’t raise the topic of sex for a month – but from all the new _reading materials _he’d stashed places where he thought Crowley wouldn’t find them, it was apparent it was still on his mind.

(The idea that he, an innocent, would be able to hide wicked magazines from the most experienced tempter on the planet was laughable. But Crowley never called him out on it. He just put everything back where he found it, once he’d miracled away the most egregiously bad advice.)

Finally though, at home after an unusually peaceful afternoon in the park together, Aziraphale announced: “I won’t be able to talk dirty to you. So I hope you weren’t serious about asking it of me.”

The particulars of their potential bedroom activity didn’t interest him nearly as much as his partner’s blush did. “Won’t be able to?” he repeated, with excessively polite curiosity. “Do tell.”

Aziraphale fussed. Crowley waited.

Finally: “Well, I-, I know I’ve manifested all the right parts for this body, but I don’t… understand what there is to say about it, you know, beyond that. And... I haven’t _done _anything to speak of, and I don’t _know _anything, and, and I know _you _have, and do, so it seems silly to pretend that I could… oh, _say _something!” he snapped at last, after Crowley just sat smiling and let him flounder.

It was honestly adorable. And he couldn’t resist – just a little – doing what he did. He promised himself it would only be _just a little._ “What do you want me to say?” he laughed at last. “All right, how’s this: I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale was properly wary of demonic ideas, especially where sex was concerned.

“Oh yes. An idea.” He got up, prowled around the angel with more than a hint of threat, and finally stopped at his back. “How about,” he whispered, into his ear, “You and I make a deal about it.”

“A- a _deal_?” Almost squeaking.

“Mm-hm.” He dropped his voice to nearly a growl. “I won’t make you say anything beyond a couple of easy... common... _innocent _words that you say all the time. And I’ll say them all first. How does that sound?” He watched their reflection in the window. 

“It _sounds_ like you’ve got something up your sleeve.”

“What a clever angel.” He flicked his tongue out lightly against Aziraphale’s ear.

“Oh-!”

Flick. “Do we have a deal?” Flick.

Aziraphale swallowed. “All right. Deal.” He braced up.

Crowley grinned. Couldn’t help it. The angel might be relentlessly _good_, but he personally was relentlessly good _at this_, and just now, he was winning. He’d have Aziraphale eating out of his hand in... three minutes. Four, tops.

He glanced at the clock. “So let’s talk,” he invited. “Not about _you _if you’re so shy. We can talk about me.”

“About you?”

“Mm-hm. Let’s talk about how I touch myself.” He flicked his tongue out again, twice this time, and then dipped down to nip at the earlobe.

Aziraphale squirmed, and gasped, and couldn’t speak until the nipping stopped. “How you...?” He didn’t repeat the rest.

“Touch myself. Mm-hm.” Nip. Lick. Suck. “Where do you think I do it?” he purred at last. “Lying in my bed? Sitting in my chair? Standing in my shower?” He paused. “Think about it.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and _thought about it – _he could tell from the way his brow furrowed. He thought for a while. Then, finally: “In your chair?”

He laughed. Moved around to lean over Aziraphale’s other shoulder, to whisper into his other ear. “Very good.” And nip it. Then he used his hands – ran them down Aziraphale’s sides, petting firmly from his ribs down past his hips and up again. “Do I take my clothes off, or leave them on?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Crowley pinched him, a quick little twist in the softness at his waist. “Naughty angel, that’s no answer. I like my clothes,” he answered himself, “They stay right where they are. I just... open... the trousers. Like this.” His hands crept around to undo Aziraphale’s belt. His buttons. Aziraphale gasped and pressed back against him, grabbing spastically at his jacket.

He returned to broad strokes down Aziraphale’s body – no tease, no threat – to allow a moment for calming down. When they were both breathing steadily again he murmured: “Do you think I use my right hand, or my left?”

“Ah… left.”

Of _course _he’d guess that. “Wrong,” he said, pinching a little sharper this time. He slid his right hand down, down the hip and over the front of Aziraphale’s leg, and kneaded firmly at his inner thigh. He made sure his wrist was bumping up against Where It Mattered, as if by accident. “I’ve always felt a better _grip _right-handed. Don’t you think?”

Aziraphale gave a sharp gasp – almost a hiss. So he hissed back, soft and smooth and right into his partner’s ear. “Now don’t you ssssstart moving in on _my _territory.” And he used his tongue – really used it, flicking and tickling until Aziraphale shuddered and whimpered aloud.

“I’m-... sorry?”

“Mm. All right.” He withdrew, stopped teasing, and put one arm around the waist instead. It was a chaste hold, maybe, but a solid one – he pulled until they were flush together, full-body contact. 

“So. Do you think I like it rough, or gentle? Answer this time.” With a light pinch for warning.

“Ah-. Oh.” Aziraphale pressed against him. Thinking, apparently. “Rough,” he guessed at last.

Crowley held his hips and shook him a little. “Trick question. I like both. I like to _start _gentle... like this...” And he walked one hand around to Aziraphale’s navel, walked lower, tapped him lightly on the bulge. Drew his finger up it, barely there, and chuckled at the noise that resulted. Did it again. And again.

Then he stepped away. “And then I finish hard and graceless like everybody else,” he said loudly, flatly, to break the spell. “Which I’m not going to demonstrate for you, because I think you’ve had enough for one day.”

“What! _Enough?!_” Aziraphale whirled around to face him. Wringing his hands. “You can’t be serious. Crowley!” When it became apparent that he _was_. “We just started! You’re not going to _stop_!”

“Sorry about that, angel.” He sort of tried to tamp down his unrepentant grin. Sort of. “But I didn’t want to go all the way with you unless you’re sure.”

“But I-, oh, come _on_! Is there any part of me that looks unsure to you right now?”

He laughed. “Not a bit. Which doesn’t surprise me; I do know what I’m doing.” With a little more seriousness, he explained: “So far you resisted.” _Or, I resisted for you._ “But much longer, and we’d have a real sin of the flesh on our hands.” _Maybe literally._ “I wasn’t sure you were up for that, and I didn’t want to tempt you into something you’d regret.”

That, finally, seemed to give Aziraphale pause; he stopped squirming miserably and began to look thoughtful.

“We’ll talk about it sometime when you’re not-...” A quick glance to Aziraphale’s open buttons. “Agitated.”

Aziraphale rushed to close them, looking everywhere other than at his partner. “Crowley, you’re terrible.”

“Mm.” He preened. Couldn’t resist pushing. “But was it fun, though?”

“Do shut up.”

“Well, how will I know what to do next time, if-”

“You know damn well it was _fun, _demon.”

He smirked.

“You really are terrible.”

Mimed a kiss. 

* * *

Later, when they were calming down over tea and pastries, Aziraphale managed to ask him a question. Stammering furiously. “Is, is that… what you… do to people? What you say? To tempt them.”

He had to laugh. “Why, is that not what _you’ve_ been doing all the times I asked you to cover temptations for me?” He was intensely regretful, suddenly, that he had never thought to peek in. What _did _the angel’s technique look like? Perhaps he would never know.

But he still answered the question. “But no. No, there is not another person living or dead who would care how I masturbate. That was a bit of naughtiness I cooked up just for you.” It came to him and he couldn’t resist. “An original sin, you could say.”

Aziraphale huffed and fussed. Adorably. 

* * *

TBC. 

**One more part. Then that’s it, for realz. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

The last time he had sprung a sex-related surprise he had wound up subjected to a delightful demonstration of possibilities on the spot, so, Aziraphale decided to repeat the trick and ask his question without any warning. He did it one morning on their way home from breakfast. “Crowley. Are you kinky?” 

Crowley’s step faltered. He looked over, from behind his glasses and beneath his hair. 

But Aziraphale couldn’t wait out the awkward silence; he grew too flustered and had to fill it himself. “Because, you know, the other day. I can’t help but think that you were enjoying yourself. When you were… you know. Tormenting. Me.”

Crowley found his stride again. Swung his hips far more than necessary for walking; had he altered that form to a segmented skeleton more to his taste? And repeated, with a smirk: “Tormenting.”

The strut, the mocking tone, the lack of any denial was answer enough. “You are, aren’t you.” He set it out. “You may be indifferent to sex, but you do enjoy _that_. Games of dominance.”

Step, swing. Step, swing. Step, swing. Then Crowley’s head dipped – a tiny nod. He looked over and arched eyebrows, hard and challenging. _And so what_?

And so nothing; as far as he was aware there was no rule designating kinked sex as any more forbidden than regular sex. All he wanted was information. So he pressed. “Submission too?”

Silence. Just a frown, as if Crowley were thinking. Concentrating. But he didn’t produce an answer. It made Aziraphale wonder if perhaps he didn’t know, so eventually he proposed an answer himself. “You’re uncertain,” he suggested, “But not indifferent.”

That got a shrug. A yes-shrug. “Suppose not.”

* * *

It had seemed like a good idea when he read about it, and even when he asked Crowley flat out whether he would enjoy it. But Aziraphale found that when the time actually came for him to _take control_, he was so nervous he almost called it off. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, for the hundredth time.

Crowley had apparently run out of patience to keep saying _yes._ “Why not?” He shrugged, breezy. “What’s the worst that could happen? If it’s fun we’ll do it again, if it’s not, we won’t. Come on.”

“All right.” He took a deep breath. Tried to will the butterflies in his stomach to stillness. Tried to be calm, and steady, and firm. “Are you ready to do as I tell you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Good.” Another deep breath. “Then get on your knees.” 

* * *

“Crowley? May I come in?” 

“In a minute, angel!” His answer was loud and bright and flat, as if somebody had knocked by chance on the bathroom he happened to be occupying.

Not at all as if his would-be lover was knocking on the door of the bathroom into which he had fled after a single ill-chosen command had frozen him stiff.

“I just-… I’m terribly sorry… I just want to know that you’re all right. Are you?”

At that the door swung open. “I’m a demon hiding in a bathroom, Aziraphale – does that sound _all right_ to you?” And the door slammed closed again. “Give me a moment.”

“All right, well, I just-… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Crowley called out to him. Standing over by the mirror now, from the sound of it. Aziraphale could imagine him leaning over it, gripping the edge of the sink. “So stop doing it. I just need a moment, that’s all.”

“All right.” He tried to be patient, and wait until Crowley was ready to talk to him, but when a few minutes had passed in silence he gave up and started explaining again. “I’d done some reading, is all, and it seems that humans say that to each other all the time when they’re, you know. I had no idea it would… have an impact… like that…”

Silence. Finally Crowley answered him. “When humans ask each other to kneel,” he said, “What they think of is having a cock shoved in their face.”

“I wasn’t going to do _that_!”

A harsh laugh. “I know. It’d be much easier if you were.”

He finally had to admit: “I don’t understand.”

“When _I _think of kneeling,” Crowley explained, tense and precise, “What I think of is prayer. And supplication. And being executed. All very sensitive subjects, between me and an angel.”

He ached, suddenly. “Oh, Crowley.”

A loud and exasperated sigh. “Oh, _stop_.” The door swung open again. “Don’t get all _upset._ I was just _telling _you.”

“I’m really terribly-”

“Yes yes yes, I know, you’re sorry.” Crowley waved it away from the doorway. “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to start slower next time. Much slower.” And then, as if that weren’t direction enough, he frowned and clarified: “Start with having me do something innocuous, since we’ve never done it before, and we go from there.”

He nodded. Miserable. _There will not be a next time._

Crowley rolled his eyes as if he’d spoken out loud. “Really? You’re going to be like that? _Fine._ Come here.” And he marched off down the hall to the sitting room, and plunked himself down on the loveseat. “Come _here,_” he insisted. Patted the seat next to him. “Come on. Just to get the idea.”

Still a little too shaken and contrite to argue, Aziraphale sat. Awkwardly.

“Now. Have a little power.” As if he were offering a new type of cookie. Crowley slithered away to the far edge of the seat, turned, kicked his legs over the arm of the furniture and lay his head down in Aziraphale’s lap. “There,” he said. “How’s that?”

“Um-. Yes. Good.” It was odd that his throat was clogged; he tried to clear it. He sat a moment to just feel it – it _was _a feeling of power that was unusual where Crowley was concerned. He wasn’t sure he was equal to it.

Eventually Crowley spoke up. “You’re allowed to touch me. Gently or otherwise.”

“Oh-. Yes.” His heart was hammering, for some reason, as he brought his hand up. It hovered uncertainly over the demon’s cheek.

He couldn’t really tell what Crowley was thinking… which gave him an idea, and something to _do_: he took the glasses off himself.

“There.” He folded them carefully. Set them aside.

Crowley looked bemused. He shifted a little and reached up to take Aziraphale’s hand. He guided it to himself. Cupped it around his own jaw a moment… and then moved it lower, to his own throat, spread it out, and let go.

Aziraphale could feel him swallowing under his palm. The feeling was bizarrely intimate, and it surprised him into twitching, just for a moment, tightening his fingers.

“Don’t look so shellshocked,” Crowley encouraged. “You can touch, I said. Here, I’ll stay out of your way.” He clunked his wrists together twice, and with a cloud of sulfurous sparks, a pair of shackles fizzed into being around them. He relaxed in the binding, serene.

Without releasing his grip at the neck, Aziraphale took his free hand and skimmed it over Crowley’s cheek. Then moved to his hair – into his hair. Nails on the scalp, he knew firsthand the pleasure of that, and sure enough Crowley’s eyes drifted closed and he said: “_Mmmm._”

He swallowed. Whispered: “Do you like that?”

“Mm-hm.”

“What about...?” and he closed his hand to tug, just a little.

A soft laugh. “Try and find out.”

So he did – pulling firmly on Crowley’s hair and tilting his head back with it, exposing his throat all the way. He ran his nails _there_, and that got him a full-body shudder. Hard enough to make the shackles clank.

He released the pressure and returned to more gentle attentions. “I think I could get the hang of this.”

“_Mm_. I’m happy to practice with you as long as you like.”

“Perfect.”

It _was_ perfect, and Crowley lay blissed-out and boneless in his lap for a few eternal, perfect moments.

…And then said, lazily: “I _told_ you you like me.”

It took him a moment to understand that comment. When he did he froze. “Crowley…” He’d put their argument firmly out of his mind almost as soon as it happened, and he had no idea what to do with the reminder now.

“Bah.” Crowley shrugged it off like he’d spoken idly and it didn’t matter, but surely it _did, _or he wouldn’t have mentioned it. Especially now, lying quiescent and basking in his partner’s care. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve said to me, I’m used to it. It’s not even the worst thing you said to me _that day_. I knew you were lying, I always do. Talent of mine.”

It was true he had said a lot of things, that day. He felt a little queasy; the things weren’t exactly _lies _but they certainly were not _true_, and when you really thought about them, they were pretty awful. And meanwhile Crowley still lounged in his lap trustingly, not because it hadn’t hurt but because he was... _used to it_.

Finally he managed to say something. “I am… so sorry.”

_That _sent Crowley into action; he scrambled to sit upright, to free himself with a sparking _pop_, to grab Aziraphale’s hand. “Angel. Come on. It’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not _fine_,” he protested. Coughing a little; the sparks stung his throat and eyes. “It wasn’t true. And it was _wrong_.” That stopped him in his tracks. He had done _wrong_? By harming a _demon_? Head Office would have called that an impossibility, but, he thought about it some more and his heart was certain. He insisted, firmly: “Treating you badly is wrong.” He waited to see whether the Almighty would weigh in, but the room was still.

Crowley sat back on the couch, away, and steepled his hands in front of his face.

There was quiet, except for the pounding of their hearts; Aziraphale could hear them. (Had he _always _had the ability to detect Crowley’s distress, if only he had been trying?)

Finally Crowley spoke. “Don’t say things like that,” he ordered, “You’ll get yourself in trouble. There’s no need to take risks for me.”

That was patently ridiculous. “Of course there is,” he said stiffly. “I care for you a great deal. Easily as much as anything else we’ve been taking risks for lately.” 

Crowley blinked. His mouth fell open.

For a second he verged on panic. He’d spoken reflexively, without weighing the truth of it, and Crowley could sense lies, and if his impetuous declaration ended up doing even more damage he’d-

“Well that’s nice to hear.”

He stared in amazement. Was it _true_? (Was it _wrong_? To love one person – especially a damned person – more than all the rest of creation? Or… was it just what people _did_, when they weren’t so worried about toeing the Party line?).

“I don’t suppose I have to say, _same to you_?” Crowley went on. “You’re not an idiot – you must have noticed by now.”

He _was _an idiot, and he _hadn’t _noticed, but lying wasn’t an option and so he just smiled shakily and said: “Well, you aren’t exactly very subtle.”

Crowley laughed, and it was a little dark and knowing – maybe he had heard what Aziraphale didn’t say. “Well that’s a terrible failing in a demon,” he said, “But if you’ve already caught me out I might as well run with it. How’s this:” He shifted and dropped his voice. “I liked what you were doing a few minutes ago, and I wish you’d start doing it again. That clear enough for you?”

Aziraphale swallowed. “You mean the-… the hair?”

“Eh.” Crowley shrugged, now massively casual. “The whole thing, really. You know.” He waited.

He was expectant, but also nervous. Seeing that, Aziraphale felt overwhelmingly protective all of a sudden – and somehow, reaching out and closing his hand around Crowley’s throat seemed a perfectly acceptable way of expressing it. Crowley let himself be guided by the pressure, laid belly-up and held by the neck. When Aziraphale tapped him on the wrist meaningfully, he sparked his shackles back on.

“Mm-hm.” Aziraphale returned his hand to the hair.

He pet lightly at first, but then began to scratch with purpose. That drew a low groan. “Mm – yes please,” Crowley said. “Do that.”

Aziraphale did, and for awhile watched him lie unguarded, but, eventually Crowley opened his eyes and saw him looking. He made a face, felt around for his glasses and put them on. (A little awkwardly, with his hands bound, but he managed.). And then relaxed again.

Aziraphale huffed. “I’ll allow that,” he announced. “This time.” He squeezed Crowley’s throat lightly and shook him, as if in warning.

He could feel Crowley’s laughter under his hand.

* * *

**The End.**

This is all I’ve got at the moment. I think it’s unlikely they’d magically be on the same page to start out with, so I foresee a lot of trial and error in their future, but I bet they could eventually do a good job with each other.

Let me know what you thought!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Kinkmeme prompt requested breathplay with Crowley’s scarf-thing. Seemed like a good idea to me, so... breathplay is served! Enjoy.**

* * *

“...So that's the inside. But the crust is really the amazing part; if you look, you can see here that the scalloped edges have been-” When he glanced up, he stopped dead. Because Crowley _wasn’t_ admiring the finer points of his pastry, which Aziraphale had been explaining for several minutes; instead he was busily chewing it up. He’d stuffed the entire thing in his mouth apparently, already, and now sat there with the evidence of his guilt puffing out his cheeks like a chipmunk.

Aziraphale snorted. “I should strangle you.”

Crowley laughed around his mouthful, and finally managed to swallow. “Be my guest,” he said thickly, through the last of it. Swallowed again. “Might do you good.”

Crowley was obviously teasing... but it might. He hadn’t forgotten the feeling of his partner’s throat jumping against his hand, he _did _want to experience that heady rush again, but until now there hadn’t really been an opportunity to mention it.

This, right here in the park on a picnic blanket, was as clear a chance as he was going to get. So, he reached out and lay one hand over Crowley’s wrist. “I agree. Hold still, please.”

Crowley’s face relaxed into stupid surprise, but he didn’t resist – even though he could have if he’d wanted to; Aziraphale moved slowly to give him plenty of time. Slowly, he took off the sunglasses. Slowly, he untied the knot of the demon’s insolent little neck ornament that didn’t seem sure if it wanted to be a scarf or a necktie. Slowly, he wound it once around his neck. Slowly he took both ends in his hand and turned his wrist, wrapping the cloth around his fist, regripping now with his knuckles brushing Crowley’s collarbones.

“You’re serious about this?” Crowley sounded a little disbelieving, but not displeased.

“Do I not seem serious?” He _was _serious, right here on a picnic blanket in the park, and it was apparent that Crowley was serious too. His cheeks were flushed already.

In the face of his interest Aziraphale wasn’t even nervous. He was calm and confident; he knew what to do and that all he had to do was take it... _slow._

He turned his fist, carefully, rotating to tighten the cloth. Crowley flushed redder. Swallowed very hard. Tilted his chin up – just a little, but Aziraphale understood it as encouragement – an offer of better access.

He rotated further, increasing the pressure. “I suppose it’s hard to make an impression on you with this,” he sighed, “When you don’t even really need air.”

When Crowley opened his mouth to speak, he turned his fist firmly, tightening hard. Crowley gagged, coughed, and then pushed words out. “You are-... certainly... making an impression.”

He relaxed the strangle to allow breathing again, but only briefly. “A good one?” he said, tightening up.

Crowley pulled hard for breath. “With you… is there... any other kind?”

He laughed. Crawled a little closer, until he was kneeling between Crowley’s splayed legs, really looming over him. The blanket was perfect. So much better than any furniture, which would only constrain them and get in the way.

He kept pressure on the throat with one hand, and touched Crowley’s chest with the other. “Lean back.”

Crowley did, bracing his arms behind him. He looked gloriously relaxed, and beautiful, and willing, and Aziraphale paused to appreciate the sight a moment before ordering: “Hands together.”

Crowley shifted to comply. He moved their bag behind his back to lean on, and then it seemed comfortable enough.

“Bind yourself.”

At that he looked surprised. “Angel...”

A quick look around. “No one’s watching. Go on.”

Crowley cocked his head, smiling, then did it with a _pop_ and a whiff of sulfur.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “I should learn to do that for you. Mine would smell better.”

At that, for the first time, the demon looked uncertain. “I wouldn’t be able to get out of them.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether his fear was offensive, or heartbreaking, or just completely rational, but in any event he would table it to speak of later. “Fair point,” he conceded. “I can get used to eau de Pit if I have to.” Crowley relaxed. “Enjoying that _air_, are we?”

“Maybe, but not as much as I’ll enjoy- _ngkh-_ that.” This time he gagged against it harder, eyes wide.

His pupils were blown to wide black ovals and Aziraphale _thought _he was happy, but it was probably best to check. “Does that hurt?” He scowled – that wasn’t precisely what he meant. “I mean-... do you mind it?”

Crowley shifted, bending one leg to raise his knee, sprawling out even more lazily. “No,” he breathed, harsh and effortful.

“Good.” Aziraphale beamed at him. Keeping the scarf only snug, he reached over with his free hand to their picnic to pull a grape off the bunch.

Crowley opened his mouth for it and said _mm _to the sweetness. After he’d swallowed, and had his breath restricted again, he grated out: “Should I- say- thank you?”

That affected him more than he should express. So he twisted the cloth hard, to distract himself with the sounds of Crowley choking.

It worked; after the delight of denying his demon air for a few moments he was able to smile and say in a calm tone: “I think it would be appropriate, now.”

Maybe Crowley had seen something in his face, though, because although he was still clearly enjoying the game he indicated in no uncertain terms that they were finished. He freed himself, scooted backwards with a warm smile to tug his scarf free, and reached out with both hands to Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Thank you, angel,” he said seriously.

His voice was hoarse.

Dear _God _they were going to have to do this again.

* * *

** The End?**

**Aha, so they *are* getting the hang of it. Oh good.**


	5. Chapter 5

They were hanging the new curtains on the bed when he felt it: a dark burst of lust, related somehow to the frame the curtains were being hung from. He glanced over and saw Aziraphale fussing with the corner area – and tugging at it a little, as if testing its strength.

_He wants to be tied from there. No,_ he corrected himself at once, _he wants to tie **me** from there._ He was proud, a little, of a job well done. But still. _I have officially created a monster._ Out of an angel. How much credit should a demon get for _that_?

He cleared his throat. It was time to remind Aziraphale exactly who he was dealing with. “I feel that, you know,” he said coolly.

“What?” Aziraphale turned to face him, all wide-eyed innocence.

“What you’re thinking. About _that._” He pointed. Then he stepped out of his loafers and knelt up on the bed, beckoning. “Have you ever done that before?”

“Have I- um-, oh I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he, too, was climbing up on the bed.

Crowley teetered. Back away or take the plunge?

He had always been one for plunging. “Don’t lie to me, angel, or I’ll give you a spanking.” Laughing, and with his eyes hidden away, there was nothing in his demeanor to suggest any kind of threat. But Aziraphale still swallowed hard. Which cemented him. _Do it. This._

“Do they give spankings, up in Heaven?” he asked, pretending at idle curiosity. “If you’ve been a naughty boy, do they bend you over a desk and...?” He raised a hand, wiggled it questioningly.

Aziraphale shook his head. 

“So you’ve never…?”

Shook his head again. He didn’t speak, but both fear and lust were wafting off him. (This was very new, the angel being so free with his feelings. In the thousands of years of their association, Aziraphale had almost _never _been afraid of him. And never lustful, unless you counted a few nights of very extreme drunkenness.)

Crowley swiveled to sit down, legs dangling off the side of the bed. “Oh, then I’ll explain it to you. C’mere,” he urged, easy. “I’ll just explain.” Reached out and grasped a handful of Aziraphale’s collar. “Here, lie down.” He tugged and got the angel over his lap, lying flat and facedown, held him there with one hand behind the head. It wasn’t a perfect position, but then, he wasn’t really going to do it. He didn’t think Aziraphale would much like pain.

“Right. So for a spanking,” he began, “One gets hit, with an open hand, anywhere from _here… _down to _here._” His hand glided firm and flat and impersonal. He pretended not to see Aziraphale shiver. “You end up taking it everywhere, really, but the sweet spot… is _this_ place.” He slid his hand up. “Right where the buttocks meet the thighs. It’s very tender there, very sensitive.” He gave a squeeze. Moved around, gentle and stroking. “See?”

Aziraphale nodded. Tense all over, and hardly breathing, but there wasn’t much fear coming off him now.

So he moved to fix that. “Now, I know _spanking _sounds pretty harmless,” he warned, “But let me tell you, it stings. Stings like _anything_. Like you would not believe. Especially when the blows are hard, and there are a lot of them.” He could feel Aziraphale’s breath hitching. Felt him shudder hard - and squirm.

“Hey.” He applied a pinch, gentle at first to avoid surprise, and then hard enough to draw sounds and twitches. “You’re expected to try and hold still for it, angel. Otherwise you get spanked harder.”

“Sorry,” Aziraphale gasped into the comforter. “I _am_ trying. It’s just... new.”

“And frightening.” Crowley kneaded at him steadily. “Believe me, I understand. It is.” He raised his hand a few inches and thudded down lightly, without any bite at all. It still drew a gasp. He chuckled and returned to petting.

Aziraphale shifted in his lap. “Crowley?”

“Yes?” He, too, could play at wide-eyed innocence.

Aziraphale pillowed his head in his arms. _Covering his face, _Crowley realized immediately. “Would you... do it? Just once or twice, you know, not hard. Just... to see. So I know.”

_Uh-huh_. _Just so I know._ He would accept _starting out_ with fig leaves; Aziraphale was shy and conservative, and the roundabout way was often the only way to broach something new. But now, having come so far on this particular topic, he felt that at least a _little _honesty was in order. 

He made sure his tone was all warm amusement - nothing mocking or nasty - when he said: “Would I what, exactly?” He didn’t want to push too hard.

Aziraphale sighed. Burrowed deeper. Finally cooperated. “Would you... spank me?”

“Course.” He removed his hands and tugged on the back of Aziraphale’s shirt. “Get up a second. Let’s get you set up properly: I like to do my spanking on bare skin.”

Kneeling now, looking at him, Aziraphale hesitated. “Bare skin?”

“Mm-hm.” He glanced down. “Undo your belt. Open your trousers. Push them down a little, out of the way. Just above the knee is fine.”

With every instruction, the angel turned pinker. He did as he was told, looking down and around and everywhere except at his partner. Then he lay back down.

For a moment Crowley considered leaving the underwear alone… but pushing was fun, and it was getting good results. He plucked gently at the waistband. “Bare skin, I said.”

“Crowley!” he sounded scandalized.

“Come on - hips up.” He patted him sharply on the thigh. The sound of skin on skin made him hungry; it was a shame they weren’t really going to do it. When the angel raised his hips, grumbling a little, Crowley tugged his briefs down quick and businesslike and let him resettle.

He was now naked where it mattered. This was the closest they had ever been to sexual contact, but Crowley ignored that in favor of stroking over the bare, white, purely virgin flesh trembling in his lap. “Just a couple,” he said. “And not hard.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Right here.” He rubbed where the buttocks met the thighs. “Say when.” Because he could be quite a bastard when he set his mind to it.

“I- oh dear-...” A deep breath. “All right, go on. I’m ready.” Tensed up all over.

The first one was so gentle it couldn’t possibly have hurt - Aziraphale’s squeak was entirely unnecessary. “Well done. Ask for another, if you want it.”

“Oh dear. All right: another, please.”

Another, just as light, on the other side. He could feel Aziraphale wriggling against him and it didn’t feel like displeasure. “All right, one more. Ask for it to sting.” He could push harder. “Ask _nicely_.”

A muffled sound into the comforter. Then he arched up and said: “One more, please, Crowley. I’d like you to spank me hard enough to sting.”

He’d expected a spike of fear but felt none. That made him hesitate. Did Aziraphale _know_ what he was asking for?

Aziraphale interpreted his hesitation perfectly. “Of course I mean it,” he insisted, sounding a little irritated, “It’s no different from eating spicy food. I’ll have a bit of pain, please. By your hand.”

It was amazing that after all this time his angel could still surprise him. “Right. Well put.” It was hard to talk; he felt shy for some reason. “Here you go,” he said, and drew back to deliver one hard, sharp slap.

The sound echoed in the room. So did Aziraphale’s gasp.

After a moment the angel’s stiff muscles relaxed. Crowley rubbed so that the sting wouldn’t linger, and Aziraphale squirmed under his hand and said: “Oh my. Thank you.”

He made himself stop rubbing. “Get dressed,” he said roughly, leaning back and away. “Before somebody tempts somebody to keep going.”

Aziraphale laughed, and kneeled up to dress himself. He didn’t make eye contact, but he did say: “You know, I quite enjoyed that.”

Crowley was _so proud_ of him. He wanted to say so, to point out that the angel had come so far from being afraid to sleep in the same _flat _as a demon. But Aziraphale would feel conflicted if it were pointed out, and it was better not to spoil the mood. So instead he said: “Not the pain, though?” He thought not, but it was better to be sure.

“Well, no, but... I didn’t _mind _it. The rest was lovely, and the pain was fine.”

Crowley reached over and took his hand. To keep things balanced, he also sighed and said something mildly mean. “Nobody calls a spanking _lovely, _Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale put his nose in the air. “_I_ do.” Then he smiled - and there was a hint of _darkness _to the smile, a note Crowley had never seen from him before. “And you will too, before I’m through with you. You’ll call it anything I say.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**Okay, I give up. Did not mean to keep writing this, but clearly, I have failed. At this point, I think we can safely expect my failure to continue. **


	6. Chapter 6

Aziraphale was so innocent and trusting that it was sometimes difficult to remember that he was no idiot. Crowley realized, later, that he should _not _have been taken by surprise when Aziraphale informed him that he’d done some complicated thinking about their latest Activity, and had some questions.

“And I want to talk _here,_” he added, on a bus, “So that there’s no possibility of your distracting me by _doing_ something. As this is certainly not the place.”

“Anywhere can be the place, really, if you’re brave enough.” Crowley sat back and crossed his arms. Braced up for... whatever this was. “Fine. Ask.”

“Well. I’ve been thinking about our conversation.” Aziraphale was _looking _at him, he could see it through the side mesh of his glasses. He didn’t turn. The angel’s attention, now that he had it, was blistering.

“You asked me,” Aziraphale went on, “Whether Heaven ever engages in, you know, certain discipline. I know you knew the answer already – you did live there after all, but also, I’ve complained enough about the paperwork policies that you know you’d have heard if there were a-, a more corporal policy as well.”

Crowley Repelled the humans that surrounded them. Not a serious warp of reality – just a slight encouragement for them all to move away and turn their attentions elsewhere.

Aziraphale watched them clear off. “Oh, I wish I knew how to do that.”

“I don’t think you could. People are drawn to you, angel, they always will be.” He uncrossed his arms long enough to put a hand on Aziraphale’s knee and squeeze. Then resumed his position.

“Do you see where this is going, Crowley?”

He made a face. Aziraphale waited. Finally he answered the unasked questions, as many as he could think of. “They don’t do anything as easy as a couple of slaps on the behind, no. What they _do _do is horrible, and I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, it’s happened to me. No, never because of you.” _In a manner of speaking. _But he’d endure it twice over again before admitting the truth; the magnitude of the fretting that the truth would unleash was… ineffable. He went on. “I’m fine. And what happened down there was very different from anything you’re likely to do in fun, so don’t worry about stumbling on it by accident. You won’t.”

He waited to see if that was all.

“I see,” Aziraphale said at last. “Well. Whatever it was, I won’t do anything to call it to mind.”

“Should bloody well hope not. I don’t think you could even find the _equipment _for it, if you wanted to.”

“No-.” He hissed impatiently. “Please. Obviously I won’t _do _it. I just meant, I’ll also stay away from the... the _feeling _of it. I won’t say anything about punishment. I won’t tell you you’ve been, you know, a naughty demon, or anything.”

He snorted. “I _have_ been a naughty demon.”

“Yes, but I won’t say so while I’m spanking you.”

He froze. He wasn’t hearing this. He pushed the humans away much harder, so that half the bus stood up and shuffled off towards the front. He wished he could push Aziraphale away too; he needed to find a rock to hide under, alone, until his embarrassment – or whatever it was – faded.

Aziraphale was looking at him, he could tell. He was not looking back. “Because,” the angel went on, softly, “I _would _like to try spanking you. Would that be all right?”

The first thing he thought was: _You could see, or do, any thing in this world that you want to. And what you want first is to lock us away together so you can poke me to see what happens? _That terrified him, and also delighted him, and was not something to say aloud.

What he _wanted _to say, with irritation, was: _Of course it would be all right. I’ve told you, I’ll do anything you want to try._ That’s what he would have said, if he were indifferent to this little project. But he wasn’t, so all he could do was shrug and jerk his head yes.

* * *

When they got home, Aziraphale gestured for him to enter first – as usual – and then locked the cottage door behind them. His sense of danger sang instantly, even though the kitchen had far too many windows for Aziraphale to dare _doing_ anything.

“Shoes off,” Aziraphale ordered. “I’m tired of miracling dirt off the new rug every day.” 

The new rug – the bedroom rug. Right. 

“Is now a good time?” The angel was taking off his own shoes – and his jacket.

Crowley felt a smile stretching over his face. _Make him ssssay it. _“A good time for what?” 

Aziraphale didn’t look up from the cuff he was unbuttoning. “You know for what.” He rolled his sleeve up carefully and proceeded to the other. “Just a little. You know. Just to see.” 

_Make him._ “Just to see?” he repeated, openly mocking now. “I like to save my lies for the things that matter. Come on: say it.”

“Very well.” Aziraphale drew himself up. Clasped his hands behind his back. “I want to spank you. My reading tells me that if I continue long enough the skin turns pink and the flesh grows warm, and I’ve been wondering whether that would happen with you – you usually feel rather cool to me.”

He could only stare.

“Is that clear enough for you?”

His mouth opened a couple of times but he didn’t manage any words.

“Excellent. Then, into the bedroom. Please.” 

* * *

Unlike demons, angels couldn’t instinctively detect fear. They had developed some workarounds – like, it was their habit, now, to start off with “_BE NOT AFRAID_” when they manifested to humans, after one too many of the chosen ones ran screaming. 

Aziraphale, though, said nothing of the kind – he didn’t offer a single particle of reassurance as they headed down the hall.

_Tell him,_ Crowley thought clearly at himself. But he couldn’t. _Tell him what? That **he’s** going too fast for **you**? Then **he** can go off and sulk for a century._

He tried to reassure himself, by reminding himself that the angel wasn’t about to do any real harm to this corporation, and that even if he did, they could always heal it up again with a thought. That knowledge provided no reassurance at all. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what would.

When he got into the bedroom and saw the bed, and remembered Aziraphale’s yearning at its frame, and the possibility of holy handcuffs he really couldn’t get out of, he stopped still. Took a moment to gather himself.

“Something wrong?”

“Course not,” he said right away. Feeling superlatively silly for his malaise, and steamrolling right over it. “No no, nah.”

The angel frowned. “Right.” Frowned harder. 

“So, yeah, let’s-” _Let’s get it over with_. He caught himself in time. “Let’s get on, then, yeah?” Completely casual. He was proud of the tone. No trace of fear _there._

The angel’s eyes narrowed. “Do you _want _to do this?”

“Yeah, of course! What do you mean? Yeah. Why not?”

They regarded each other. Crowley had the strange feeling that he looked _guilty _of something, but he couldn’t imagine what, so he tried not to.

Aziraphale sighed and turned away. Fidgeted with the bedpost, tugging at the curtains. Thinking. “You know,” he said at last, “I cannot sense the... darker emotions, the way a demon can.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that, it’s cool.” He was still quick and casual. By the way Aziraphale paused thoughtfully again, though, he realized he’d given the wrong answer. Should have taken his time and tried for a little more sincerity. Too late.

After a long heavy silence Aziraphale turned to him. _Oozing _imperturbable angelic peace. “Therefore,” he said, slow and weighty, “At least at first, you are going to have to guide me. You take the reins, and I’ll take them over from you when the time seems right. Yes?”

He felt something in his chest slip loose. “Uh-. Oh. Okay. Yeah, that... sounds good.” He tried to get himself together. He felt _better, _sure, but also dizzy and unstable. There was a hole where the ball of baseless anxiety had been.

Aziraphale clapped his hands. “Wonderful! So. Bare skin, you said?” Practically bouncing with hopeful excitement, but, he waited. Issued no orders.

“Yup.” This part was easy; Crowley could do it in his sleep. Unbuckle, nice and slow. Shift his weight to let his hips roll enticingly, draw the belt out of its loops. Unzip. (When he noticed the way Aziraphale was watching him, his traitorous cock twitched. He ignored it.).

“How about the ottoman?” Aziraphale suggested. “If I sit, you can lie across my lap?”

He nodded and Aziraphale sat, straight and formal. Patted his legs in invitation, looking up. 

When he looked up, though, they both suddenly noticed that they were poised crotch-to-face. Aziraphale immediately looked away, reddening.

And Crowley immediately found his footing. “Bare skin, did we say, angel?” he asked innocently. Grinning. Sliding his hands into the open waist of his jeans. “Hm?”

Aziraphale risked only a quick glance in his direction – determinedly at his face, and no lower. “Ah-, yes. Please. Thank you.” Adorably flustered.

“Sure.” He peeled them down his hips. “I don’t usually wear underwear, so...”

Aziraphale peeked. “Oh-. My.”

“Mm, yes. Well, I thought if I was going to have one, I might as well... you know. Really have one.” He watched Aziraphale swallow convulsively and _not _look at him for a while, and then cleared his throat. “Well. Should I, uh, get down there?”

“Yes please. Right here.” He patted his lap again, and only when Crowley sank down to the rug did he dare look over again. They exchanged smiles – nervous, on Aziraphale’s part. Crowley could only guess what _his _looked like. He suspected there were teeth.

He crawled closer (on his knees, which neither of them mentioned), leaned over Aziraphale’s lap, and tried to relax. “Am I too heavy for you?”

“No. No, it’s... nice.”

It was, really. A hand rested between his shoulderblades. The other was nowhere. Normally, an unaccounted-for hand meant you were about to get the heaven slapped out of you, but in this case he could guess exactly where that hand was. It would be hovering in the air just over him, hovering uncertainly. That made him smile.

Then the missing hand settled on his leg. Gently, but still he jumped. It stroked him and he didn’t think he’d ever had this intimate a caress from Aziraphale before.

“You really are... cool to the touch.” Really, _really _close to evenly. One little tremor gave him away.

Crowley snorted. Kept the mood light. “Going to fix that?”

Aziraphale laughed. Patted him. Gave him a squeeze. “We’re going to try.”

* * *

**TBC.**

**1000 points to Aziraphale. He really is getting better at this :-)**

**Several people have said they’d like to see A-on-C spanking. I really did try to get there this time! Didn’t manage, but I will next time. They just needed to get in the right frame of mind first.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hi guys! Mini warning, this chapter differs significantly from what’s come before in terms of severity. Also, note there is some non-ideal BDSM practice here – partners foregoing pre-scene negotiation and just assuming that someone will safeword if there’s a problem. (Without even having really established a safeword.) For the record, that is not great policy.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Aziraphale was ready. He wanted to begin. He was poised and ready and eager...

And yet. He lowered his raised hand without striking. Crowley craned his neck to peer over his shoulder with raised eyebrows, seeking explanation.

The best he could do was: “I’m not sure how to do this.”

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted further. “You’re _not sure how?_”

“I just meant-...” He sighed. The demon’s amusement was making him feel shy and silly. “Turn around,” he ordered, with a quick pinch for emphasis. 

“Fine.” Crowley resettled himself. “If you want _my _advice...”

“I don’t. I’ve changed my mind.”

“-You can start with something nice,” Crowley said over him. “It’s easier than just jumping in.”

That was indeed good advice, and he tried it. After the initial shock associated with putting his hands on his demon so intimately – bare skin, and _there_; it was the first time – he acclimated quickly. Stroking, then patting; that felt all right. From there a little harder, and harder still, holding his breath, until one stung his hand and made Crowley twitch. 

_There,_ he thought, _That’s spanking._

He’d been scattering his attentions here and there, but once he was confident he’d figured out what to do, he set about really _doing_ it. He started with the spot Crowley had identified, where the buttocks met the thighs, on the far side since he had a better angle for it. He spanked steadily; getting used to the sound. _Crack. CRACK. Crack. Crack. CRACK._

There was no rush; he could take his time and learn. He figured out how stiff to keep his own hand to minimize the sting on himself. He saw that a hard one after a few soft reliably made Crowley jerk. 

Eventually Crowley twisted around to talk. “You can move around, you know. Not stay in the same place.”

It was obviously a criticism, but not a straightforward one and that annoyed him. If the demon didn’t _like_ something, he should say so honestly.

He paused. “I _can_,” he said haughtily, “Or I _can not.” _ He pinched the spot he had been working on, squeezing harder and harder until Crowley winced. _Really _winced, showing teeth and hissing. Aziraphale smirked pointedly at him.

Even to one without significant experience interpreting expressions of pain, it was apparent that Crowley was smiling. “Sorry, angel,” he said through his teeth. “Point taken.”

“Hmph. Good.” He let go, pretending to be mollified. (Trying not to admit that he was _actually _mollified.). Then he frowned. “Even you, slithery serpent that you are, can’t be comfortable that way,” he said. “Lie down. Relax.” When Crowley obeyed he hummed approvingly and brushed his hand from the waist down to the knee, and back again. Slow... light... gentle.

_Is that good?_ he almost asked, but the shuddering and squirming told him that it was. _Can we go on now?_ he almost asked, a while later, but the steady heartbeat told him that they could.

“This side has gotten all the attention so far.” He spanked it hard, a series of blows that made his hand sore, then grasped a handful of flesh and squeezed. Twisted a little. He could hear Crowley’s teeth grinding. He gave a shake. “Which really isn’t fair, is it? We’ll have to do the other side equally.” 

He heard a huff of laughter. Excellent.

“And we can just hope I don’t do _too _much, because then I’d have to come back here and even it up. Wouldn’t I.” He slapped suddenly, hard enough to make Crowley gasp and clench up. “But surely you can take it.” Squeeze. Twist. A couple of sharp pats. “Right?” 

“Right,” Crowley said, hoarse and harsh.

“Oh, good.” 

* * *

It _was_ good. And some of his questions had already been answered – Crowley _was_ turning pink, and warm – but he wasn’t yet done exploring.

“Does that hurt?” he said, pinching hard.

“Ow- yes! Obviously.” 

“Hm.” At first the demon had been unflappable, but now his voice was rising. It felt like an accomplishment. “More or less than the spanking itself?”

“Ah-! I don’t know. At this point they-, they both hurt, all right?”

“But which hurts _more_?” he pressed. “_This?”_ And he slapped twice hard. “Or _this_?” He kneaded the area forcefully.

Crowley was raking his fingers down the carpet, as though he were a clawed beast. Growling like one. But he didn’t answer.

“Do you need to feel them again?” Cheery and helpful. Drew his hand back.

“No!” Crowley spat. “Bastard!” But he made no move to get up. “I don’t know – uhm… the second thing.”

Aziraphale stopped doing it. He moved his hand to Crowley’s lower back and rested it there, then drummed his fingers to signal thought. “Do you think that’s only because it came second?” he mused, after awhile. “What do you think would happen if the spanking came _after _the squeezing? Hm.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Shall we investigate?”

Crowley went limp, as if in defeat. “Oh, angel,” he groaned. “What have I done.” Laughed. When the only answer was a gentle rubbing on his back, he sighed. “Yeah, all right. We can investigate.” Aziraphale knew his put-out tone well. He wasn’t really put out.

* * *

By the time he’d investigated which sensations hurt most, and applied them to both sides until he was satisfied that the hurt was equal, Crowley was rocking against him, squeaking and swearing airily, very much like crying. “Bastard,” he whimpered, high and broken. “Bastard, bastard, _bastard.”_

(Perhaps this _was_ rather rigorous for a first time. But it must be tolerable, or Crowley would have rebelled and stormed off to the bathroom. Anyway he was still laughing frequently, and anyway he only ever called Aziraphale names in affection, so he must be fine.)

Eventually he gave a loud, dramatic, shuddering moan. “I can’t believe I ever worried you wouldn’t go hard _enough_. I misjudged you, you bastard.”

Aziraphale laughed – and decided to drive the point home. He shushed and petted until Crowley relaxed, and then said cheerfully: “Do you remember that time I took you to the all-you-can-eat sushi place?”

It took a moment, but eventually he got a nod.

“Remember how we stayed til closing?” he purred. “So that we could try... _everything_.”

Crowley groaned. “Oh, you bastard.”

* * *

_P__ink, _which the literature had said, was certainly not accurate. Crowley was _red, _violently red all over, and dotted with darker purplish spots that might be bruises. Even the softest slap made him clench and shake now; even the lightest pinch started him begging. Loudly, theatrically, as if he were joking… but from the way he melted with relief when the pinching stopped, Aziraphale had his doubts.

Aziraphale was jealous. (He would have to pray about that later.). Jealous of the intensity of his experience, of his wholehearted surrender. And _very _jealous of the magnitude of the pleasure that was apparently associated with periods of being petted back down to earth; Crowley was moaning _yes _and invoking God and Satan and anybody else he could think of, with utter abandon. _Yes, yes, angel please, please don’t stop, please yes._

He had in no way expected to enjoy this Activity so much – he’d had no idea that there would be so much to enjoy. The sensation of his beloved demon lying cool and heavy in his lap, as close together as they had ever been. The sight of him clawing the carpet in his struggle to cooperate. The hilarity of his remarks. And of course the pride (base and ignoble and Aziraphale was going to need _so much _forgiveness for this later; he would be praying for weeks) of making Crowley beg him and mean every word. 

More than all that, though, what he found he loved best was the putting Crowley in difficulty and coaxing him back out of it again, over and over, playing him like an instrument. It was an evolving melody. At first he’d had to strike hard enough to make his hand sting, blows in the double digits before Crowley would even squirm or hiss. Now, though, all it took was a sharp pat, a quick dig of nails, a pinch, a squeeze, to hurt him. And then murmurs of comfort, gentle touches, to soothe him again afterwards.

He could have gone on forever. In fact, it was only once he realized he was hungry that Aziraphale thought to ask: “Is it my job to call a halt, or yours?”

Crowley turned to look over his shoulder at him. Soggily incredulous.

_Mine, that means. “_What? How would I have known that?” He gave a pinch, which drew a loud “_Mnn_!”. It made him smile. “All right, then, let’s say we’re finished. We do need to stop _some _time. Unfortunately.”

Crowley laughed weakly. Wiped at his face. “Unfortunately for _you_, maybe.” He was a mess.

Aziraphale felt a twinge – there was a real chance he was going to start feeling guilty about all this, very guilty, very soon. He tried to stave it off. “Oh, please.” He rolled his eyes. “You know damn well you could have said stop at any moment.”

Crowley looked surprised. “I know that – I wasn’t suggesting you did anything wrong.” He wiped his face again, chuckling. “Nor would I _ever_, while you’ve got me bent over like this. All you’ll get from me is deference and praise, I promise.”

He relaxed – if Crowley was well enough to tease, everything was all right. “That, and being called _bastard _more times than I can count.”

“Mm. Well, you are one,” he said lazily. “A magnificent, incomparable bastard. I cannot _believe_ you did this to me.” He reached back to touch himself gingerly. “I’m not going to be able to sit down.” If it was meant to sound like a complaint... it didn’t. “And you made me _like_ it.” 

Aziraphale laughed. Warm and proud and contented.

Crowley wriggled in his lap, obviously equally warm, and proud, and contented. And-

And...

And radiating _love._

_?_

* * *

**TBC_._**

**Uh-oh! It’s hard to keep your guard up once you’ve had the daylights spanked out of you. :-)**

**Thank you guys for the kudos and comments! I hope this was what you were looking for... it definitely went harder than I expected. But Crowley’s good for it. They’ll be fine.**


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t Aziraphale’s practice to sleep, exactly, but sometimes he was content to lie still for the nighttime hours and relive all the most delightful bits of the previous day. This time, what he’d done – what Crowley had _let _him do – was of course at the forefront of his mind, but he also found that some of what came after was returning to him full force, over and over again, throughout the night. 

Watching the slow, painful process of Crowley working his jeans back up over his hips. Dining at the bar instead of a table, so that Crowley could stand beside him, giving him pointed looks every time he turned down someone’s offer of a second stool. And then Crowley settling in for bed on his belly, carefully, and bidding him _Good night, you bastard_ instead of the usual.

He wanted to reach out during the night, to lay a gentle hand over where he had damaged. Not to try healing it – he liked letting the reminder of their activity linger – but just to cool, and soothe, and pleasure. He didn’t, though; Crowley _did _like to sleep, and shouldn’t be disturbed. He had certainly earned his rest.

Once it was morning, though, and the demon awoke on his own… all bets were off. “How are you?” he said softly, and reached out.

“Whoa!” The moment his palm made contact, Crowley flew out of bed and put half a carpet between them. “_You_, stay over _there."_ It was dramatic enough to be a joke - he hoped. “And keep those curious little hands to yourself.” With an enormous accusing scowl, he reached behind himself to commence rubbing.

It _seemed _to be a joke, but all the literature said it was his job to be sure. “Crowley. _Are_ you all right?” he said, seriously. “Or was it too much? Do I owe you an apology?”

Crowley executed a neat little turn (did he model? He could have done; the humans would love him), struck a pose, and snapped his fingers to become suddenly nude. “I don’t know, angel – you tell me. How does it look?”

Since he’d been _invited_, he felt free to stare. “I quite like the way it looks.” He started to get out of bed; he couldn’t just sit staring all day. Much as he wanted to. “But I do want to know if you’re well. I mean it.”

With another finger-snap, Crowley was dressed again. In soft lounge pants. “Yeah – I’m fine.” He turned, his smile sleepy and open. “Completely fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Was it… fun?”

“It was fun.” He laughed a little. “But it’s only for special occasions. You’re not doing it again for a while, all right?”

“I promise,” he said instantly. “I won’t lay a hand on you until-”

“-No. No.” Crowley interrupted him, waving him to silence. “Listen. If you’re going to be hanging out with a demon, you need to get better at careful bargaining. Words matter, angel. We _live _for loopholes.”

He rolled his eyes - it was annoying to have his romantic proclamations interrupted. But he supposed the point was valid. “Fine. All right. What _should_ I have said?”

“You really want us to not touch _at all _again? I’m sick of that, six millennia were enough. Try: I won’t lay a _violent_ hand on you,” he suggested. “Or go less poetic, really; the more concrete the promise the safer it is to make. I won’t cause you any pain on purpose. Or even, any _physical _pain on purpose, if you want to reserve the right to say nasty things to me.”

_Nasty things. _It was obvious that Crowley was talking off the cuff, breezy and harmless, but Aziraphale hadn’t yet forgotten being taken to task for what he’d said in their last quarrel. He might as well make known that he had already resolved not to say those things again. “I don’t,” he said with certainty. “In fact I’d like to make you a much more sweeping promise about that_._” He took a deep breath. “I promise I will try to be kinder to you with my words from now on,” he said carefully. “We’re together now; there’s no reason for me to be pushing you away.”

Crowley stared at him, plainly at a loss. Finally he said: “That’s good, yes. _Try to _is pretty safe language for a promise. Quick learner.”

Aziraphale gave him a Look. “I’m serious,” he said, “And I’m going to extract promises from _you_, too, about how we treat with one another. It’s the only way this will work.”

Crowley reached behind himself pointedly. “Not right now, you’re not.”

He smiled. “No. Not right now.” It was only fair to hold off on making demands until their dynamic had stabilized, he knew that. “Anyway, right now I’m still working on _my _half. So. I also promise I won’t cause you any _physical _pain on purpose, until plenty of time has passed _and _yesterday is all completely healed _and _you ask me to.” He raised eyebrows. “Good?”

Crowley nodded, his smile warm.

He was _so beautiful. _“But… might I ask a favor?”

Eyebrows. Wary eyebrows. A gesture to _out with it_.

“In the meantime… could I watch you get dressed this morning?” He glanced down to the lounge pants. “In your real clothes.”

Crowley’s mouth twitched. He squared up and crossed his arms. “You are insatiable,” he said. “Incorrigible. And in-whatever-else. I don’t even know what you are.”

_In love,_ he thought clearly, but kept that one to himself til he’d given it a lot more thought. Just waited, hopefully.

“But, fine.” Crowley plucked a pair of jeans out of the air – slim cut, skintight, punishingly stiff. “These do?”

He swallowed hard. Nodded yes.

* * *

**TBC.**

**Next one will be Crowley POV. Not that he’s been super secretive about what he thinks of all this, but still, I think it will be fun to get his take firsthand. Next chapter I miiiiiight be at a logical stopping point, and I'll try again to stop. We'll see it how that goes!**


	9. Chapter 9

Aziraphale spent some time in observation. He paid close attention as he and Crowley continued about the business of moving in together, established a routine, came to share what had previously been kept separate. (He found Crowley’s treatment of his plants truly distressing. He had not yet found a way to mention it.).

He paid even closer attention as they went about the business of _being _together, sitting together, touching, lying in bed together and eating off each other’s forks. 

He paid the _closest _attention to when they suggested at the performance of Activities - which they had not attempted in earnest for several weeks now. Aziraphale was as good as his word; he did not so much as _hint _at any of the things he wanted to try - even though he saw shades of them, now, in everything.

What he was looking for, feeling for, was the steady, heavy waves of love that had been rolling off his boyfriend while they basked in the aftermath of their spanking. He was _sure _he had not imagined it. But he had not been able to feel it again.

He couldn’t imagine why. What was different about that day? It surely wasn’t Crowley’s physical state; as much as they joked about the heinous cruelty with which he had inflicted unbearable pain, he’d previously seen that corporation undergo gory injury with Crowley not so much as batting an eye. Nothing they had done that day could have made him _that _grateful to be finished. 

It was true that he had taken Crowley firmly in hand, for once, instead of letting himself be dragged haplessly along behind him. Maybe that was it? He hoped not; it would be strange if the only way to make his lover love him was to do him violence. 

(Also, he hoped not because that meant there was nothing he could do but wait until Crowley asked him for pain explicitly; he had made promises. Though they had been reasonably flexible with the interpretation of those promises, especially in that first weekend. He had proposed a restaurant with miraculously bare, hard wooden seats. Crowley had invited him into a shower whose water was miraculously hot enough to be almost intolerable on sensitive skin. Smirking knowingly at him the whole time.).

He would figure something out - some way to prove that what he had felt in the bedroom that day was not just wishful thinking or a freak accident. He would draw love from a demon, somehow other than by force. 

Anyway he would certainly enjoy trying.

* * *

It kept him on edge, wondering what cheery little question Aziraphale would pop out with next. _Crowley, have you ever heard of puppy play?_ No - it was likely to be something less lighthearted, and more physically dreadful. Or humiliating. Or both. _Did you know that some humans overfill each other’s digestive tracts with water, just for fun? _That sounded about right. Or, ugh - _sounding_. With electricity.

(The fact that he had long encouraged humans to develop these and other practices, to help them realize that Heaven was no place for anybody with a sense of adventure, didn’t help. It turned out that there was a world of difference between allowing strangers to do something to you, and allowing your best friend. Who knew!)

Somehow, though, even after everything, Aziraphale managed to surprise him, by suggesting something even worse than anything he had expected.

“Um. Crowley?” Sitting on the porch one evening, watching the stars.

He sighed. He could tell by the tone of voice: here it came, finally, after three weeks. Whatever it was. “Yeah?”

“Do you remember, in the park? Your scarf...?”

“What about my scarf?” he said innocently. But since he was probably on balance the more nervous of the two of them, he couldn’t keep it up. “Of course I remember,” he snapped, harsher than he intended. “What about it?”

“Well, while we were-” he simply skipped the words, and went on. “You... did your hands.” Aziraphale knocked his own wrists together.

He saw where this was going, and his stomach dropped. _No. No, we cannot **just try it,** not **just to see, **not **just for a second. **No._ There would be hurt feelings, of course. But it didn’t matter; this was something he could not allow. “Angel...”

“Would you do mine?”

He blinked, derailed. “What?”

“Would you,” he said, holding his hands out, “Put that infernal binding of yours on me? I’d like to feel it.”

He didn’t move. “If I put cuffs on you you won’t be able to get out of them,” he pointed out. “And for all we know they might hurt. Burn you or something.”

“In that case you’ll take them off very quickly, I assume.” He held his wrists out more insistently. “Go on. I’m not going to ask you to reciprocate.”

He felt himself giving a look of profound suspicion.

“Ever,” Aziraphale clarified. “I’m not going to ask you to reciprocate _ever_. I wouldn’t.” He laughed a little as he explained. “Of the two of us, you are markedly better in a crisis. I wouldn’t ever want you incapacitated, even for a moment.”

It was sweet, to be depended on. Not as stifling as he would have guessed. And he allowed it without any resistance, since experimenting was much attractive than fighting just now. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re sure?” He reached out. Waited for a nod. When he got it, he tapped Aziraphale’s wrists lightly and bound them together. “Sorry about the smoke.”

The angel was trying valiantly not to cough. “It’s fine,” he choked out. Sniffed. Then tugged. “Mm. Yes, they do feel pretty secure. They don’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” Now _he _was the curious one. He reached for the connecting chain and gave it a yank, jostling Aziraphale in his seat. “You can’t easily get free.”

Aziraphale gave him a very soft, very compassionate look and he realized, too late, what he’d opened up. _I trust you,_ the angel would say, and that would be terrible because he _still_ wouldn’t agree to-

“I’m an angel,” Aziraphale said instead, with a smile that was sort of tremulous. “Faith is what I do.” Good answer, that. A _very _good answer. He felt himself relaxing. “And actually,” Aziraphale went on, “Being as you’re, well, decidedly _not _currently an angel... I was wondering if perhaps you’d, you know, give me a demonstration of what _you_ do. All the... you know... the dark, um, whatever it is you might- oh!”

He had lifted the chain, suddenly, to pull Aziraphale’s arms up over his head. Just to surprise him - he knew that it wasn’t really the _doing _that got his partner all hot and bothered. He stood and leaned down over Aziraphale’s chair, pinning his bound hands back over the top for effect, and then got started.

“What I do? What _should _I do,” he growled, “With an angel I’ve got here all spread out and helpless?”

A gasp. Instant, furious blushing. A torrent of _want_.

Normally, anything this easy would be boring. But, it turned out that everything was different when it was your best friend. Who knew! Affection swept over him - and there was no need to stuff it down for once; Aziraphale was likely too far gone to pay attention. He got ready to bring his very, very best. 

He re-gripped the chain so that it would clank, and looked Aziraphale up and down slowly, and licked his lips.

* * *

Later.

“I cannot believe you did that _on the porch._”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Hmph. Well. Feel free to... not do anything... every single day if you want to. That was lovely.”

“Mm. Yes it was. Get what you wanted?”

“Yes. Yes, I think I did.”

* * *

**The End. **

**Okay, it’s time for me to return to the real world and start sleeping and getting work done again for a while. Farewell, everybody. Thanks so much to you guys who commented, I really like seeing what you think!**


End file.
